Mr. Britling Sees It Through eBook

Mr. Direck changed again, and after using some embrocation
that Mrs. Britling recommended very strongly, came
down in a black jacket and a cheerfully ample black
tie. He had a sense of physical well-being such
as he had not experienced since he came aboard the
liner at New York. The curious thing was that
it was not quite the same sense of physical well-being
that one had in America. That is bright and clear
and a little dry, this was—­humid.
His mind quivered contentedly, like sunset midges
over a lake—­it had no hard bright flashes—­and
his body wanted to sit about. His sense of intimacy
with Cecily increased each time he looked at her.
When she met his eyes she smiled. He’d caught
her style now, he felt; he attempted no more compliments
and was frankly her pupil at hockey and Badminton.
After supper Mr. Britling renewed his suggestion of
an automobile excursion on the Monday.

“There’s nothing to take you back to London,”
said Mr. Britling, “and we could just hunt about
the district with the little old car and see everything
you want to see....”

Mr. Direck did not hesitate three seconds. He
thought of Gladys; he thought of Miss Cecily Corner.

“Well, indeed,” he said, “if it
isn’t burthening you, if I’m not being
any sort of inconvenience here for another night, I’d
be really very glad indeed of the opportunity of going
around and seeing all these ancient places....”

Section 6

The newspapers came next morning at nine, and were
full of the Sarajevo Murders. Mr. Direck got
the Daily Chronicle and found quite animated
headlines for a British paper.

“Who’s this Archduke,” he asked,
“anyhow? And where is this Bosnia?
I thought it was a part of Turkey.”

“It’s in Austria,” said Teddy.

“It’s in the middle ages,” said
Mr. Britling. “What an odd, pertinaceous
business it seems to have been. First one bomb,
then another; then finally the man with the pistol.
While we were strolling about the rose garden.
It’s like something out of ‘The Prisoner
of Zenda.’”

“Please,” said Herr Heinrich.

Mr. Britling assumed an attentive expression.

“Will not this generally affect European politics?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps it will.”

“It says in the paper that Serbia has sent those
bombs to Sarajevo.”

“It’s like another world,” said
Mr. Britling, over his paper. “Assassination
as a political method. Can you imagine anything
of the sort happening nowadays west of the Adriatic?
Imagine some one assassinating the American Vice-President,
and the bombs being at once ascribed to the arsenal
at Toronto!... We take our politics more sadly
in the West.... Won’t you have another egg,
Direck?”

“Please! Might this not lead to a war?”

“I don’t think so. Austria may threaten
Serbia, but she doesn’t want to provoke a conflict
with Russia. It would be going too near the powder
magazine. But it’s all an extraordinary
business.”